5 Times John's Feelings Were Unrequited
by DizzyBaby
Summary: ...And the 1 time Sherlock felt the same way. Angst with a happy ending! S/J.


**Does what it says on the tin! Sherlock/John slash. Quite angsty but does have a happy ending! Written in second person from John's POV.**

The 5 times John's feelings for Sherlock were unrequited.

1.

It is raining the first time.

You remember because there were rain drops caught on Sherlock's eyelashes. His long, pale hands felt like silk against your wet skin as he grasped hold of your head and tried to make you focus.

You are quite sure it did anything but.

He says something. You can see his mouth moving but you can't hear what he's saying.

Then his hands fall from your face and the world snaps back with crystal clear clarity. But everything has shifted slightly. You have the unexplainable urge to put his hands back on you.

Instead, you watch him walk away.

In the seventeen steps it takes him to disappear from sight, you know you're screwed.

2.

You've been avoiding all physical contact with Sherlock like the plague.

And then you end up falling from a step ladder and landing straight on top of him.

You freeze up immediately. But your traitorous body is already beginning to respond as you glance down at a surprised Sherlock.

"Oh God, you two! It's a crime scene!" comes the very bemused voice of Lestrade from the doorway.

"How long have you two been shagging? Me and Sally have a bet on, you see," Anderson questions eagerly.

"Mind your own business," you mutter and you are not sure why you don't contradict them like you once would. Sherlock wastes no time in doing so though.

He wraps a hand around your arm and the other on your chest and pushes you off. You watch, dazed and a little stung as he gets to his feet and brushes the dust from his coat. "John and I are not shagging, as you so eloquently put it. Keep your extraordinarily large nose out my life."

And with that, Sherlock marches out the room, leaving you sprawled in the dust.

You see the sympathy and the understanding in Lestrade's eyes before he chases Sherlock down the stairs.

3.

You have nightmares. With the horrors you have seen, it is hardly surprising.

But tonight is a particularly bad one.

You are back in Afghanistan and instead of you being shot, it is Sherlock. You try to tend to him but every time you try to touch him, piles of sand pour from your hands.

His shirt has been stained entirely red from his blood and he is yelling and cursing at you but you can't do anything to help.

He dies in your arms. You pull his body into your chest and sit there rocking from side to side.

Then someone is shaking your shoulder and you are ripped from the nightmare with a gasp. It is dark in the room and you can feel Sherlock's hand on your shoulder, uncertain yet trying to be comforting.

The nightmare is still playing in your mind, so vivid and realistic that for a second you swear you can still feel the grit in between your fingers.

Then you lean over and wrap your arms around Sherlock and sob into his chest. His body goes rigid but he neither pushes you off or embraces you back.

When you enter the kitchen in the morning, Sherlock merely glances at you over his newspaper and asks you to pass the butter.

4.

Getting completely pissed to try and forget your growing crush on Sherlock and your sexual identity crisis seemed like a good idea at the time. But you have always been a morose drunk and you spend most of the night with your chin resting on your palm, propped up by the bar, feeling sorry for yourself.

You stumble into the lounge and you find the man you've been trying to forget sprawled out on the sofa, plucking absentmindedly at his violin.

And he has never looked more beautiful.

So much so that it almost hurts to look at him. All dishevelled hair and furrowed brow. His aubergine shirt is hanging open and you want to bite the collarbone jutting out beneath his pale skin.

"Go to bed, John," he says without taking his eyes off a spot on the opposite wall.

"Only if you come with me." You don't know what possessed you to say it and you want to take it back the second it is out your mouth. It sobers you up instantly.

The only sign Sherlock shows of having heard is by plucking a bad note as his hand slips. He uses the end of his violin bow to push you towards the door. "I put a bowl on your bedside table. Don't choke on your own vomit in the night."

His cold, disgusted tone shocks you and you don't say anything else in return. As you haul yourself up the stairs, you think that may have been his plan all along.

5.

Being trapped in a impossibly small space with Sherlock Holmes is your idea of a hellish experience.

Not because he fidgets and insists on squashing you in the very most corner of the wardrobe.

But because his body is pressed against yours and you are fighting the urge to touch him, to kiss him, so badly that you are shaking.

You screw up your eyes and fists so tightly because you know he can feel it. He can probably deduce what it means in a second flat. You feel his head turn to face you. His breath is hot against your ear. "John," he says.

You swallow hard. The air in the wardrobe has become heavy with tension and you wonder if it is just you can feel it. He leans closer. Your lips part on their own accord, hopeful and eager.

But then you are blinded by light and his warm weight beside you is gone.

When your eyes adjust, you realise you are standing in an empty room.

And The One Time Sherlock Felt The Same Way.

You take it back. Being stuck in a wardrobe with Sherlock Holmes is not the worse thing that could happen to the man who is in love with the detective.

No, that doesn't even come close to having to pretend you and Sherlock are a couple to infiltrate the gay community for the latest case.

The irony of it makes you want to cry. You know that when Sherlock strokes your cheek under the watchful eye of the suspected murderer, that he is thinking about how to make it look realistic. You are thinking about how you wish this _was _real.

Sherlock leans in and kisses you and you almost sob with relief. His lips are hesitant and careful against yours and now you have him, you get carried away. One hand grabs hold of the back of his neck and force him closer. He gasps and your teeth bang against each other. He pulls away and there is a look of surprise and fear in his wide eyes.

You shake your head. "I can't do this," you croak before rushing out the door. You hail a taxi back to Baker Street and your head is in your hands the entire journey.

When you make it up to the lounge and see all the beakers and test tubes filled with brightly coloured chemicals sprawled across the table, something snaps inside you. You don't think it's fair that he can just take over every aspect of your life and poison it. With a roar, you lift the table and turn it over, sending everything falling to the floor.

Chest heaving, you look down at all the broken glass and know that there will be hell to pay when Sherlock gets home.

Then you head upstairs and pull your suitcase out from under the bed.

You are packing the last of your things when you hear the creak of the floorboard from the landing. You turn and Sherlock is standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets with his face quite impassive.

"Care to explain what that was all about?"

"Like you haven't worked that out on your own," you sneer in a voice that is quite unlike your own.

He nods his head and it is silent for a moment as he sheds his coat and scarf. "And you're leaving because of it."

"I can't stay here," you say quietly and place the suitcase on the floor beside your feet. You wait for him to make the next move. He simply stares at you. Just when you have given up hope on him feeling the same way, he crosses the distance between you and kicks the suitcase backwards. You vaguely hear it slide along the floor and thud down the stairs but then he's pushing you down onto the sofa. His mouth covers yours and swallows your surprised 'oof'.

He is furious, you realise, as he kisses hard enough to leave bruises. He tries to rip your jumper off instead of pulling it over your head. "How can you think I don't care? I don't let just anybody into my life, John."

"You care about me?" You manage to gasp out and you're surprised you can even think when the man you've wanted for months is laying on top of you.

"If you opened your eyes once in awhile you'd see that," he says hurriedly and then once he realises that your jumper will not be ripped apart, he sighs and adds, "Why do you insist on wearing such ridiculous jumpers?" And then his hand goes to your belt buckle. Your body goes rigid. It's all moving too far and you can't think. This might be the speed that Sherlock moves at but you need a moment for your brain to catch up. He must sense this because he moves his hands to rest either side of your body on the sofa and props himself up.

You choke out a laugh. "You hide everything really well."

"Well would you like me to shout my feelings from the rooftops? Get a tattoo of your name over my heart?" He suggests, looking at you like you're a puzzle he has yet to solve.

"No, nothing so drastic. Just a little affection once in awhile would be nice."

"And how do I do that?"

You can't help but chuckle at the confused expression on Sherlock's face. "You're Sherlock Holmes, work it out."

He smiles at this, his eyes sparkling. Then he kisses you.

So you may have not got the undying love confession you hoped for but as his lips move against yours, you think that this might just make up for it.


End file.
